Unperfect Birthdays
by BuddingWriter101
Summary: Post "Carry On," Baz attempts to plan the perfect surprise birthday party for Simon, though he may go a little overboard. Does Simon want a fancy cake, lavish decorations, and an expensive gift, or is Baz all he needs? (Warning: Filled with lots of cuteness, Snowbaz and frosting)


**I'm not British in the slightest (you should hear my sorry-excuse for a British accent) and this story will probably look like American writing with oddly placed and misused British slang (and a horrible attempt at Baz's eloquent way of speaking), but whatever! Shut up and enjoy the plot!**

 **It's gonna be broken down...not sure into how many chapters. No more than 4 or 5; probably less than that. We'll see how it goes.**

 **-Unperfect Birthdays**

"All I'm asking you, Bunce, is Simon's preferred color scheme. You can't possibly expect me to "wing" it. Or worse, ask him directly."

I could almost hear her eyes rolling through the phone. "What's so wrong with just asking him, Baz? He's so thick, I doubt he'll catch on."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You know perfectly well that Simon's only an idiot when you don't want him to be. Any other time, he's a regular fucking Sherlock."

"I think you're worrying too much to begin with."

Worrying _too much_? That's where she's wrong. I wasn't worrying enough. I would never worry enough about Simon. Not that I was going to relay all that to Bunce. She already gave me enough shit for being such a lovesick fool. To be honest, I'd had quite enough of her ever-wiggling eyebrows and the suggestive looks I would catch her throwing Simon whenever I visited their flat.

All I answered with was a sigh and a clipped excuse to hang up. I'd figure out the damn color scheme myself. I'd been around him enough. I knew what he liked. But my mind was drawing a blank.

Closing my eyes, leaned against the kitchen counter top in the apartment I shared with Aunt Fiona. Color scheme…color scheme…color scheme…

Possibly gold and white? No, much too flashy.

Black? Definitely not. Too morbid.

Blue? My eyes popped open. Yes, blue would work beautifully. With silver. I'd buy him a blue tie too and take him out to dinner. It'd match his eyes.

I nodded to myself, pleased I was finally able to decide, and wrote it down in a notebook I had in my other hand.

The only thing I had left to consider was the cake.

Sighing, I stuffed the notebook into the pocket of my jeans and went to get my coat. I'd been trying to decide on the cake for _months_ , ever since I'd first hatched this surprise party idea for Simon.

I'd been discussing the development of birthday traditions among Mages with Bunce (after she'd gone on and on about the flourishes of her recently turned sixteen-year-old cousin. We'd asked Simon what Normal birthday traditions were like, and the bloke just casually mentioned never having a birthday party.

Never had a birthday party? In his life? Granted, my birthdays were never a overly-joyous occasion (especially without my mother) but I still received presents and well-wishes, especially from Fiona.

He'd tried to cover up his disappointment, saying that since his birthday was in the summer and the Mage (we all cringed when he said _his_ name. I think even my fangs popped out a little) didn't allow him to contact anyone during that time, there was no way to celebrate it, Normal way or Magik way. He said he didn't mind, that it was in the past, and he never really saw the point in celebrating birthdays so feverishly anyway.

Sodding liar.

So I decided that his next birthday, which was coming up in just a week, would top anything ever seen before. He'd be blown away, I'd make sure of it.

After I'd put on my shoes and wrapped a scarf around my neck, I opened the front door and locked it behind me. I hadn't been to Snow's flat in two days. Whenever we go out anywhere, Snow always seems like the clingy boyfriend. In reality, I was much worse; I hated being apart from him for more than a few days at a time. I started to get antsy. Snow was quite literally a walking disaster. He might not be a magician anymore, but it'd be stupid to assume he wouldn't get into trouble.

A cab ride later, I pulled out the spare key Bunce had given me ("I figured you'd probably want it." "Wipe that fucking smirk off your face, Bunce.") and entered the flat.

Previous case in point, as I went into the kitchen looking for Simon, I was greeted to the sight of him trying to stuff as many marshmallows into his mouth as he could. He already had in a ridiculous amount and was currently trying to force yet another any way it would fit. He shifted some of them around and was able to squeeze it into his cheeks, which were puffed out.

"Snow?" He jumped, previously oblivious to my arrival (he was just _that_ focused on his marshmallows). To my horror, his face went red and he started choking. I rushed over to him, grabbed him around the stomach and pushed lightly. Lightly for _me_ , anyway. (I was trying to help him, not kill him before the marshmallows could finish him off). "For Gods sakes, spit them out!"

With a final push, the marshmallow lodged in his throat shot out and landed in a wet, mushy heap on the ground. Both of us breathing heavily, I stared him down. "Snow, why the bloody hell would you do that?"

He shrugged, unable to meet my eyes, which was kind of adorable (No. I was angry at him. Stupid, trouble-causing Snow).

He mumbled a bit.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Well I was...I was...you see, I was..."

I rolled my eyes. "Snow, spit it out already."

He paused, caught his breath, then continued. "I was trying to beat the world record."

I raised a confused eyebrow. "What?"

"The record. For amount of marshmallows you can fit in your mouth. It's 44."

It's never a dull moment with Snow. It's never an easy one either.

His features suddenly hardened. "I was at 35, Baz! I was so close! And then you just had to interrupt me."

An irritated Snow is on the same level of frightening as a irritated kitten. He was too endearing for his own good sometimes. "I think you would have choked in any case, love. You just had one too many. Are you going to help me clean?" He crossed his arms and flopped into a seat, effectively ignoring me."Fine, pout away. See if I care."

Once I'd thrown the last of them in the garbage, I turned to Snow, my hands on my hips. "Well?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Well what?"

"What do you say?"

"For what?"

"Me saving your life, obviously."

He jumped up in protest. "It wouldn't have started choking if you hadn't surprised me!"

I shook my head. "Irrelevant." My hair came loose from the sides and fell in my face. I really should get it trimmed. I pushed it back behind my ears. Snow watched the whole time, his eyes glued on my hands from the moment they moved up to my head until the moment they lowered to my side. Then I noticed he was _still_ staring. He gulped his famous gulp, and I grinned.

"What's the matter, Snow?" I asked, coming closer. He stepped back.

"Stay away, I'm still mad at you for destroying my chances of breaking a world record."

"Oh? And how long do you think you can stay mad at me?" I was only a few inches away now, and Snow had to tilt his head up to meet my eyes.

"Forever," he answered, but the slight tinge to his cheeks didn't make the statement very convincing.

"Hmm..." I lowered my lips to his ear. "And how sure are you?" I lightly traced his arm with my hand.

He growled. Instead of retorting, he pushed me back, grabbed a hold of my scarf, then pulled me back in on his lips. I smiled against him while he frowned; he may have been the one to kiss me, but we both knew who won this round.

I pulled away, leaving a blushing Simon behind as I removed my coat and now-loose scarf. "So, what are your plans for today?"

"Plans?" he asked, confused.

"Yes, plans. I told you yesterday I was coming over for a few hours." I needed him as suspicious as possible over the next week while I was planning his party, and that meant spending as much time with him now as I could.

"But you didn't say I had to make _plans_."

"I thought you would have at least thought about something you wanted to do. Sorry, sometimes I forget how slow you are."

"We don't need _plans_!"

I raised my eyebrow again. "Snow, we can't spend all of our time snogging. We have to do at least some coupely things besides that." Not that I would really know. Hell, _Simon_ should know more about this than me.

He grinned. "I could live with just snogging though." His grin fell into a frown. "Can you ever just consistently call me one thing? You're always saying Snow or Simon or whatever. Just call me Simon."

I elegantly draped myself over the couch, one arm out and waiting for him to come over. "I only call you Simon when you're not being an idiot."

He stopped coming over and scowled. "But you rarely ever call me Simon."

"I just love it when you prove my point for me."

He growled again and glared at me, and I couldn't help but laugh. I rose from the couch and started walking back toward the kitchen. Snow followed me like a puppy, and couldn't help ask what I was doing.

I started getting ingredients from the fridge; milk, butter, eggs, cherries... Bunce did all the shopping, but she knew to have these on hand.

"What does it look like, Snow? I'm making scones."


End file.
